


The Eye From Above

by orphan_account



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: F/M, Mentions of Suicide
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-31
Updated: 2015-05-30
Packaged: 2018-02-15 13:32:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2230872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>H o m e l e s s!A l f r e d F. J o n e s X R e a d e r: Sometimes all you need is a different perspective.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ï 1 Ï

And there he sat, thinking no one would overhear his crying.  
        Who could, really? In the dead of night, nestled away near the base of the Golden Gate Bridge, away from any other people he was, who would've heard his sobs?  
        But things have a way of working exactly how you wouldn't expect them to, don't they? So when Alfred F. Jones finally dried his eyes and gulped down his hiccups, he found himself staring up out of his little burrow, and into the face of a fair young woman. Her chocolaty hair was pulled back into a messy ponytail. Her hawk-like eyes bore into him, making him squirm. They were bright green, dotted with golden specks that mingled with the night sky's stars.  
        Alfred didn't speak, he didn't dare, for fear that once he did, he'd never be able to stop. He had too much to say already.  
        When he could hold his tongue no longer, he asked the only logical thing any normal person would ask, "Who are you?"  
        When she answered, she said things any normal human wouldn't have said, "I dunno, you tell me." Alfred gaped. "I could be anyone, couldn't I?" Alfred gaped more. "If I tried hard enough, I could be anything you wanted me to be." Alfred nodded absentmindedly. "I have no identity."  
        "No identity?" Alfred echoed.  
        "Which is to say, every identity," the woman confirmed.  
        "I...don't see what you're getting at."  
        "What I'm saying, Alfred, is anything is possible when you take it on from every angle."  
         _How do you know my name?_  Alfred wanted to ask, but something in his gut told him she wouldn't answer. She unslung her backpack and produced two plastic bottles of dark, fizzy liquid, tossing one to him.  
        "Drink up," she said, unscrewing her own bottle and taking a nice long draught. "Then we'll talk about why I'm here and why I want to talk to you."  
        Alfred knew better than to drink it. She was a stranger, a loony little lady who went around town slapping her nonsense opinions into homeless people's heads. But Coke was a luxury he could no longer afford, and his temptation got the better of him. He sipped a little, sipped a bit more, and drained a quarter of the bottle. Savoring the tingling on his tongue.  
        "Slow," she warned. "We've got lots to talk about."  
        Alfred did his best to pace himself.  
        For the next hour or so, Alfred told her his back story. The fire, the burned house, his dead parents, how he was left with nothing, how he ended up on the streets, how he managed to scrape by. He even showed her a large burn mark on his side. It felt so good to be able to vent his tragedy to someone, he was so caught up in it that he completely forgot about his drink. At long last, he stopped talking, patted his grimy shirt flat, dried the damp corners of his eyes.  
        "So your turn," he told the girl. "What do you want to tell me? And I don't even know what to call you."  
        "You can call me anything you like."  
        "How about loony?" He meant it as a joke, but she nodded.  
        "Sure. I'm used to being called insane."  
        "No...that's not what I meant..."  
        "It's alright, I  _am_  a bit loony anyways, according to the normal human."  
        "Okay...but what did you want to tell me?" Alfred sipped his Coke slowly.  
        "Well, I didn't know when I first came, but now that you tell me about your back story, I have more to say. Need to hear the whole story before I make my remark, don't I?" He nodded. "Anyway, you say this fire is a simple tragedy, you lost your home, your parents, everything you owned in this blaze." Alfred bobbed his head again. "Well, I don't think that's true." Alfred started to protest, but she held up a hand to silence him. "There are things you aren't looking at, like I said,  first look at an event, then analyze it from all sides."  
        Alfred frowned but sat back, back against the rough dirt side of his den.  
        "You are only looking at the negative side of this 'tragedy'." She held up her fingers in an air quote.  
        "That's all there is!" Alfred cried. "Nothing but loss!"  
        "Ah, ah, ah." She raised her hand once again, and he shut up, taking a swig of his soda. "Look at it this way, what if one of your friends survived a fire like you did, but lost many of their precious possessions, as well as their family? What would you say to them?"  
        "I'd say..." Alfred wracked his mind for something he'd say. "I'd say 'at least you're alive, which means you can still go on.'"  
        "Exactly, missed all the points I'm about to go over, but exactly." Alfred frowned. Ouch. "You're thinking about what you've lost, why not think about things you've gained? What have you gained through this experience?" He shrugged. "You've one more life experience to boast of than others, haven't you? You've learned the importance of life, I believe, and just how fragile it is. You now have more knowledge, not just on the big things like being strong and not giving up, but also the little things, like how to prevent fires and how to survive on your own."  
        Alfred nodded slowly. "That...makes sense."  
        "Now that you know, you could spread this knowledge to others, make sure they don't go through the same trauma."  
        "Well, yeah, but...if you're here making me see sense and stuff, then why aren't you out there telling other people? A lot of them could use a nice pep talk. Why me? I'm only twenty-three, I mean, can't amount to much, can I?"  
        "I have talked to others, I've helped plenty of them through life difficulties."  
        "No charge?"  
        "No charge. And you...well, you just caught my eye, I guess, secluded though you are." Alfred blushed involuntarily. "Also, age does not determine how much you can do, how much you can contribute to society. Age is only a number that constantly changes, it's only a marking of how long you've been around, it's not that important once you think about it. I'm only twenty-three myself."  
        Alfred jerked in surprise. "Really?"  
        She didn't reply. "When was the last time you ate? You look pale." She patted his cheek.  
        "Um...two days ago, I think. I don't really remember..."  
        She dug around in her backpack and brought out a BLT sandwich, shoving it at him. "Take it." He was about to refuse, but the determined expression on her face made him change his mind and accept the food. "It's a buy one get one free, don't feel too bad about it." Alfred guessed she'd seen his guilty expression. "Besides, can't let you starve to death, right? Not on my conscience." She shouldered her bag and stood up. "Promise me you'll think on what I've said, alright?"  
        Alfred promised he would with a mouthful of sandwich.  
        And then she was gone, just like that.  
        So he went to sleep with a full stomach, half a bottle of Coke as a teddy bear, and thinking  _Whaaaat the heck?_


	2. Ï 2 Ï

Miss Loony came around one week later, with her backpack and her mouth, same as last time.  
        "More talk?" Alfred asked as she lowered herself into his dirt hole.  
        "It comes with a meal," she said, rummaging through her backpack and bringing out bottled water and two burritos. She handed Alfred the one with extra cheese and meat. "You look like the meat type," she'd said.  
        "Don't spoil me," Alfred protested, though he was unbelievably grateful.  
        "Then I suppose a few sausages and some lettuce would be suffice next time?"  
        "So long as it's food."  
        They ate together in silence for a while.  
        "So have you thought on what I've said?" she asked.  
        "Somewhat." Alfred took a break from his burrito. "You know what you first told me? The identity thing? I thought about that, mainly." She nodded, urging him to go on. "I thought it was fucked up at first, I mean, why would anyone say that to anyone? But...you know, I got one whole week to work it out in my head. So I thought you meant something like...I could be anything I wanted, not just you. So...if I wanted to not be homeless, all I had to do was work hard to aspire to that. Right?"  
        "Right." She didn't say anything else, but continued her lunch. Alfred took that as a sign to continue.  
        "So I could find a job, work harder to get my life back on track. Maybe when I have time...do some of the stuff I like, feel good about myself, then I can be exactly what I want, and I can have my life the way it should be. Or...how I want it to be."  
        "Good. But are you ready to do it?"  
        Alfred was silent for a while. "I don't know. I mean, in my current condition, physical and hygiene and all, well...society, as you know, is prejudiced. I'm not sure if anyone will accept me when I look like this. Even if I tried hard to get a job, nobody likes a homeless person."  
        "I know, that's true, but I meant are you ready to pull yourself together? Are you ready to take on life again?"  
        "Oh, well, yes, I am."  
        "Excellent, that brings me to more talk." It was her turn to put down the burrito while Alfred ate. "When you were distressed, did you ever feel like throwing away your life?"  
        She said it so casually, nothing sinister in her voice at all, like she'd talked about it plenty of times, which, Alfred figured, she probably had.  
        He swallowed a bit more burrito just to stall. Then finally, he said quietly, "Yes."  
        She nodded. "Reasonable."  
        "But I didn't!" Alfred said, sounding quiet proud of himself.  
        "Of course you didn't, you're here now, aren't you? Talking to me."  
        "Honestly, I've thought about it a lot of times... But I pulled through, I figured my life would get better some day. Or at least, I hoped. I mean...living on hope alone seems kind of cliché, doesn't it? But it works, it really does. I have expectations to look forward to, promises of a comfortable lifestyle, it drives me to keep going."  
        "It's not cliché," she said, equally softly. "It's only natural. Everybody should have hopes and expectations and depressions, it shows that you're human, that you still have the ability to keep hoping, keep living, keep doing what you're doing. It's a good sign, especially if it actually helps you get through issues."  
        Alfred nodded. "How do you know all this? I mean, normally a young adult doesn't go around handing out life advice. Much less teach people about different point of views."  
        "I don't know, actually. My brain sometimes goes off to work on it's own, analyzing, thinking, making notes on every perspective possible. It's like someone wired my brain to auto-pilot. There's so much stuff in my head that I eventually have to share my thoughts with someone. And who better to share with than people who need it?" She wadded up her burrito wrapper and stuffed it into her backpack.  
        There was a slight pause as Alfred gobbled up the last of his lunch.  
        "How about when you were little?" he asked. "Was it the same way?"  
        "Yes. I was a bit of a loner, see? Because of my way of thinking, it differed from most people. I could think up five times more opinions than other people because they only look at it from a certain side, whether it's their own point of view, or the point of view that sounds 'right' and 'justified'. But me? Not so much. I stated my own opinions, I stated possible opinions other people might have, I stated facts from both negative perspective and positive perspective. It kind of opened up my world, made me see a lot more than other people. I used to jot them down in notebooks, I've brought them, I wanted you to read them."  
        She pulled out a small stack of notebooks, all thin and paperback, and handed it to Alfred. She took out something else as well, a little card, like a credit card, and gave it to him.  
        He flipped the card over. "A gym membership card?"  
        "Yeah, I don't know why I decided to get it, I don't even go to the gym much. So you can have it, it's got six months left on it. Go work out or something, they've got some snacks, but don't overindulge, okay? Plus they have free showers. Personally, I think you would do well with one."  
        Alfred blushed. "Shut up."  
        She smiled softly. "Well, I'm off. I guess I 'll see you some other time." She hoisted herself out of the hole and was gone.  
        Alfred looked at the gym card, then opened the notebook at the top of the pile. It was written in childish but neat handwriting, he began to read.

 _Feasts_  
_People always say that feasts are huge meals with delicious food like whole roasted stuffed chickens, buttery veggies, cakes, and pudding, and all kinds of fancy food._  
_They're right of course, but that's what people generally think. But to a person who can barely get enough to scrape by, just a simple salad and some bread and a juice is already a feast._

  
         _That sounds like me,_  Alfred thought.  
        He finished the whole first notebook within what he believed was an hour.  
        It was filled with simple things, feasts, raining, animals attacking humans.  
         _How old was she when she wrote this?_  Alfred wondered, greatly intrigued, he continued to read down to the very last book. It wasn't fully used, there were blank pages near the end. The handwriting in this notebook differed greatly from the first one, it had matured, loopier and more slanted. The last entry in it caught Alfred's attention.

 _Affection_  
_People express and accept affection in forms that they're used to._  
_I think there are four basic ways: Physical affection, praises, need for favors and deeds, and quality time. People always expect everyone around them to be just alike, so they don't always understand what others are like._  
_People who like physical affection are like cats: Give them a kiss here, a nip there, a hug once in a while._  
_People who like praises are like dogs: Tell them 'good job', or 'you look nice today', it's like saying 'good girl' to a pup who does well._  
_People who like the other to help around are like goldfish: No need for anything too special, just wash the dishes or make the bed._  
_People who like quality time are like canaries: If canaries don't have someone to sing to, they tend to fade away._

  
        Alfred ran a finger over her words.  
        However long did she think about these things? How do these things even come to her? Does she spend hours sitting in front of a desk, trying to think up something? Or does she carry a notebook with her everywhere she goes, and jots down ideas that pop up?  
        He put the notebook down.  
        He wondered what type he was. Maybe a dog, or possibly a cat. He wondered even more what she was. And that's when he realized he knew absolutely nothing about her, he didn't even know her name, much less her birthday, or anything else for that matter.  
  
The next time she came, Alfred asked for her name.  
        She said it was anything he wanted it to be. She also said to hurry up with the free showers.


	3. Ï 3 Ï

Life was good. Alfred knew that much.  
       He had started saving up ever since he started working part-time at a Starbucks mere minutes from his den. Having earned a bit of living after struggling through his ordeal (with a little help from you-know-who), Alfred rewarded himself with a set of new clothes, jeans, a clean t-shirt, fresh socks, but kept his old Converse. He had also treated himself to a meal of BLT sandwich and a bottle of Coke that same day. It was lacking something though.  
       That was behind Alfred. They were memories of success to relish in now. Today, Alfred had a steady job as a kindergarten teacher (the kids _adored_ him), and he had a house in the suburbs just south of San Francisco. He just broke up with his girlfriend, but he told himself it was a minor conflict compared to what he'd been through, and he got over it quickly enough.  
       It had been three years since she had last visited him.  
       Every few days, Alfred would visit his the place she had thrown him his first lifeline, in hopes of running into her. He never did. He never once forgot her, that was for sure. Every so often, he'd think he saw her dark brown ponytail swinging in the crowd, only to find that the brown was a shade too light, or was streaked with an unnatural blond; sometimes he saw her green eyes on a billboard, then realized the eyes lacked her golden specks, or the green was Photoshopped.  
       But life was good, nonetheless.

Alfred sat down at the counter of a quaint Japanese izakaya with his friend, Honda Kiku.  
       Kiku ordered, Alfred waited. Kiku was a good friend of Alfred's during his rising period. Kiku worked at a Japanese bodega he opened and ran all by himself, and Alfred went there often for edamame beans and pre-made sashimi. They had formed a friendship. And Alfred got discounts on the beans every time he went so it's a plus.  
       The bartender handed over a small ceramic jug of sake, two cups, a bowl of edamame, and some pickled radishes. Emptying out the bowls one by one as they came, Alfred and Kiku made idle chitchat. "My cousin was fangirling over the last book of the Heroes of Olympus like crazy." "SolAngelo was definitely canon." "Are you going to see Mockingjay this weekend?"  
       Customers came and went, at one point, a man left the izakaya pickled and murmuring obscenities at the sky. A woman came in and settled down next to Alfred, ordered her picks, and struck up a conversation with the bartender.  
       As Alfred downed his fifth fill of sake, his keen ears caught on to the woman's and the bartender's conversation, even though his drunk mind couldn't process it. She was offering some advice on how to deal with his cancer-ridden wife, but the way she said things sounded so familiar... He looked over.  
       The bartender thanked her quietly and moved on to serve the next customer.  
       Kiku paid the bill.  
       The woman took sips of sake and cast a glance at Alfred. She looked unfazed, but Alfred's heart leapt out of his throat. Those forest green eyes that were speckled with sunset gold gazed back at him, shadowed in the dim lighting of the bar.  
       Kiku said he had a plane to catch. Kiku was gone.  
       "Hello, Alfred. Long time no see." But she was there.  
       Alfred's mind was blank. "Hi."  
       She looked him up and down. "I see you're faring quite well."  
       "Yeah," he said absentmindedly.   
       "Oh, don't look so surprised. Knowing me, you should have expected me to show up at some point." She poured herself another cup of sake, and downed it in one go.  
       "But...I don't actually know you." Alfred took off his glasses and wiped them on the hem of his shirt. "Besides, I haven't seen you for three whole years. How was I supposed to know you'd come? Where were you, even?"  
       "Oh, mostly traveling." She ran her fingers along the rim of her cup. "Been to some nice places, talked to some nice people. I came back to the Bay Area about two weeks ago." She looked him in the eye. "I saw you a couple times. You looked so happy."  
       "And you didn't call out to me?" Alfred questioned incredulously. "Not once?"  
       "Well, I don't see why I'd need to." Her gaze still didn't waver. "In fact, I'm no longer needed, am I? I just thought I'd swing by one last time to say goodbye."  
       " _What_ are you talking about? You intended to pop into my life, rocket me into society, and then leave?" Alfred was getting a little hysterical now, and he was glad there was no one around besides them, and the bartender. "No way you're walking out that easily, right?"  
       She looked at him skeptically. "Let's take this outside." She paid the bartender and hopped out of her seat. Alfred followed her out of the izakaya and into the street, and she turned quickly to face him. "So you're telling me, you don't want me out of your life?"  
       "Remind me again why I wouldn't?"  
       She puffed out her cheeks and exhaled. "I thought you'd just get on with your life. I mean, no one needs a lunatic in their life."  
       "You mean a genius."   
       She smiled softly. "That's sweet." She tucked a slip of paper into his jeans pocket, adjusted the collar of his shirt, and said, "Bend down a little, I can't reach your head."  
       Alfred obeyed, slightly baffled.  
       She leaned forward and pressed a delicate kiss to the corner of his mouth.  
       And she too was gone.

On the way home, Alfred touched his lips tentatively.  
       In his pocket, the little piece of paper invited him to take it out. And he did.  
       There was a cellphone number scribbled on it.


	4. Ï 4 Ï

Alfred rolled around in bed. It was a so-far sleepless night. Thank gods it was Friday night, or he'd have to go to work tomorrow.  
        He turned to look at his digital watch sitting on the nightstand.  
         _1:26_.  
        His eyes then landed on the little slip of paper with the phone number. Would she be awake? Probably not. Maybe...no. Would she talk at this hour? Most likely...yes. He stared at the paper, trying to decide whether or not to call her. He looked back at the watch.  
        2: _03_.  
        What the... He turned onto his side and grabbed his phone from the nightstand, dialed the number, and waited.  
        " _Hello?_ "  
        "Hey, it's Alfred." She hummed in response. "I hope I didn't wake you up." She hummed again.  
        " _What'd you call me for?_ "  
        "I don't know," he admitted.  
        She hummed.  
        "Quit humming," Alfred croaked. "I'm gonna fall asleep."  
        " _Good. You should sleep_."  
        Alfred put the phone on loudspeaker and set it aside. He closed his eyes. "Tell me a story." He could almost hear her smile on the other end of the line. That made him smile too. He heard shifting on her end, like she was adjusting her bed sheets. She began speaking, weaving her tale into something of a song with her enchanting intonations.  
         _"I met a boy once, here in America. He was twelve at the time, so was I. I met him by a creek on the outskirts of the city. He was such a kind, happy, energetic kid, I was instantly attracted to him. And he was good-looking. We started talking. About everything. People, how they acted. School, why it existed. Cats and their fluffiness. Stars in the night sky. Trees in the forest and in the city. About the universe. About everything and anything. We agreed to go to that creek every weekend to meet. We could talk for hours on end, we could sit silently together without a single word being exchanged. I liked him so much, I look back now and wonder if maybe, just maybe, it was love. He was my best friend."_  
        Something stirred inside Alfred. He could imagine her sitting with a little boy, chatting, sharing her strange yet fascinating ideas. Innocent children having their way in the world. Vivid were the images his brain conjured up. He could sense her glee, the boy's pleasure. He could see the creek, hear the children's words.  
         _"Our friendship went on and only blossomed. It continued till I was in high school, and he was in high school. We had sleepovers filled with popcorn and movies and telling secrets to each other. Playdates when we went to the park to play ball. Sleepless nights when we sneaked out of our houses to look at the stars. And one day in high school, he asked me out on a real date. We went to the creek where we had first met. We watched the birds in the sky, the fish in the water, the apples in the trees. And no more than a week later, my dad moved to England to work. I was forced to go with him. I never really got to say goodbye."_  
        Alfred's eyelids were getting heavy. His eyes felt a little damp, and he dabbed slowly with the corner of his blanket, like he was afraid she would see. He could feel himself well with sadness for the little boy and the girl. He felt he knew what it was like. His heart thumped.  
         _"During my time in England, I started to share my ideas with more people. Then I left, my dad, England, my comfortable life. I traveled to various places, countries, cities, villages. I met wonderful people with other wonderful concepts. But none of them was like the boy by the creek. So I returned to America, back to San Francisco, where I met the boy again. I could barely recognize him. He wasn't happy or energetic anymore. He was sad and lonely. He was traumatized. He didn't know me. I cried later that night. I swore I would bring back the boy I left six years ago, and now...I think I've succeeded. He's happy now."_  
        "Mm..." Alfred closed his eyes, let a video of her familiar story play through his mind. He cried a little. "Who was this boy?"  
         _"His name..."_  She paused to take a breath,  _"was Alfred F. Jones."_  
        Alfred gasped and fought to stay awake, but his fatigue pulled him into sleep. His finger slipped on the end call button.  
  
She gazed softly at the phone dimming in her hands.  
        Pulling up her curtains, she let the gentle rays of moonlight spill in silver pools onto her bed, opened her window a smidge, pulled up her duvet, settled under the sheets. For how long had she known Alfred? Eleven years? Yes, eleven.  
        What a strangely long time for here to be around one single person.  
        Strange indeed.  
  
That night, Alfred dreamt of fragments of creeks and kittens and apples in the sky.  
        He dreamt of a little girl, of a little boy, of a smoggy city in the distance. He heard the words the children uttered. Of the greenest and most flexible trees, of the largest and most majestic eagles, of the brightest and most faraway stars.  
        He saw the bright of day and dark of night, saw the light of dawn and grey of dusk, and the vibrancy of life and chill of death.  
        He awoke wondering how he had ever forgotten.


	5. Ï 5 Ï

Alfred slept no more than three hours.  
        Five dawned, and he could sleep no more. He prepped himself for the day and slipped into the crisp morning air of early autumn. He took ten minutes to walk from his house down the hill to Trousdale Drive, where he hailed a cab into San Francisco. When he reached the city, he took a couple minutes' walk to the base of the Golden Gate Bridge, down to the edge of the Golden Gate Strait.  
         The ditch he used to call home was now overgrown with weeds, and a family of ducks had made their nest there, the mother was nestled with her ducklings. She quacked at Alfred, Alfred quacked at her.  
        He sat at the edge of the ditch. It was shallower now, filled by the dirt and dust and plants over the years. Water lapped against the bank in a slow, rhythmic  _slosh, slosh, slosh_. Alfred closed his eyes and listened intently. As his ears grew accustomed to the quiet, he could hear, so faintly, a motorboat somewhere out on the water. A gull flew past, wings beating. Weeds and grass rustled by his feet. A faint "hello" called to him. Alfred's eyes snapped open. He spun around, startling the mother duck.  
        Wrapped tightly in a cream cardigan and dark scarf, she ambled her way through the thin brush to his side.  
        "I thought you'd come," Alfred said, somewhat proudly.  
        "Really?" The corners of her lips curled upward gently, and she sounded a bit impressed.  
        "Yeah." He hugged his chest and turned his face to the light grey sky. A breeze tickled his cheeks. He unlatched his arms and picked up a flat pebble from the dirt, turning it around between his fingers thrice, he tossed it at the strait. There was a series of soft  _plop, plop, plops_  before the pebble finally disappeared.  
        She tugged at his sleeve. "C'mon," she said quietly. "I wanna get something to eat." She stood up and, expecting him to go along, left as soundlessly as she had come. Alfred clambered to his feet, quickly matching her pace to stride alongside her.  
        "Where are we going?"  
        "Just a café," she replied rather briskly. "They've got excellent blueberry muffins."  
        Within a walk of ten minutes, they reached a small wooden door set into a grey concrete wall, painted green with four square panes. Alfred wouldn't have noticed it was a café if she hadn't pointed it out otherwise.  
        The bell over the door dinged pleasantly when she pushed the door open. The inside seemed just as quaint as the exterior, albeit a little more cozy. The walls and floor were bare concrete, cracked in some places, which gave the place a cold, hollow feel, but it was negated by the decor. Quilted booths sat in rows against two walls, wooden chairs with hand-sewn cushions were scattered about, the tables were carved from warm teak. A light  from the ceiling, shaded by a giant cream cover, cast a warm glow over everything. Towards the back stood a small, open kitchen slightly obscured from view by a glass display case filled with cakes, pastries, sandwiches, and drinks.  
        A young, somewhat ruggedly handsome man stood behind the counter. His golden, shoulder-length hair was tied back with a ribbon, and he had thin stubble along his jaw. His blue eyes glittered, and he smiled affably.  
        "'ullo," he greeted, words tinted with a French accent. "The usual?"  
        "Make that a double," she replied. "Thanks Francis." She led Alfred over to one of the smaller booths and sat down. "Isn't it wonderful in here?" She smiled dreamily and looked up at the giant light.  
        "Yup. I love the furnishing. Very homey."  
        She nodded. "You should tell Francis."  
        "What?"  
        "That you like the furnishing. Got something nice to say, say it. Tell Francis."  
        "Tell me what?" The Frenchman came over with two mugs of coffee, and two blueberry muffins on a plate.  
        Alfred flushed. "I love your decor, it's very comfy. The colors are very...soothing."  
        Francis twinkled.  
  
"Hey, take my coat." Alfred nudged her. "Your lips are turning purple."  
        "Huh?" She raised her fingers to her lips. "Oh." She reached for the heavy overcoat that Alfred offered. "Ooh, warm."  
        "Where are we going now?" Alfred asked.  
        "Oh, nowhere in particular." She clicked the heels of her boots against the sidewalk.  
        They continued to walk in silence for a while. "Where do you live?" As soon as he asked, he realized he hadn't ever connected her existence to a house before, maybe a home, but never an actual house.  
        "I live with my mom most of the time, in Palo Alto."  
        Neither had he connected her with parents. She always seemed so independent, almost...ethereal.  
        "Why'd you ask?"  
        "Um..."  
        "We can go. You wanna go? Let's go." She jumped at the prospect. "C'mon, we can...do you have a car?"  
        She didn't seem like one to drive, or bike. She just...teleports. "Yes, you gonna drive?"  
        "Oh, no, I don't know how to." She smiled shyly. "You're gonna drive, of course." She took his arm and started walking in the general direction of Alfred's home. "Let's go meet my parents."


End file.
